Treading Water
by turntoPaige394
Summary: He died and she was just treading water, waiting to finally drown. But fate is a mysterious Siren, beckoning even those who have seemingly given up… forever onward. [PART 1 of The Ties that Bind series]


**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I do not own Harry Potter or anything from its wonderful universe. That honor lies solely with J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

 _"I've gotta keep the calm before the storm_

 _I don't want less, I don't want more_

 _Must bar the windows and the doors_

 _To keep me safe, to keep me warm_

 _Yeah my life is what I'm fighting for_

 _Can't part the sea, can't reach the shore_

 _And my voice becomes the driving force_

 _I won't let this pull me overboard_

 _God, keep my head above water_

 _Don't let me drown, it gets harder_

 _I'll meet you there at the altar_

 _As I fall down to my knees_

 _Don't let me drown…"_

 _-Avril Lavigne, "Head Above Water"_

x-x-x

Blood.

So much blood.

Her hands and clothes were soaked with it, her hair matted with it. It was crusted under her fingernails and embedded between the delicate swirls adorning her vinewood wand.

She doubted she would ever smell anything else again.

"Oh Gods, please, please, hold on. Just... _hold on_."

Her hands trembled as she tipped the tiny golden vial to his drawn, almost blue lips. His teeth were gritted against the excruciating pain but she prodded his mouth none too gently until he relented and she was able to pour the potion down his throat.

As the anti-venin slid towards his ravaged esophagus, she liberally coated the torn outer flesh in the most potent Dittany she'd had in her bag. After all, what good would the anti-venin do if it spilled out the bleeding bite wounds before it had even gotten far enough to work?

The gaping fang marks were bleeding less and the wounds seemed to be closing slowly, but it still wasn't working quickly enough. She could see little streams of gold anti-venin leaking from the wound.

"Fuck!"

Without letting him go, she reached down with her shaking fingers to grab her wand. She took a deep breath and raised her wand to his neck as she raised her face to the dilapidated ceiling in a silent prayer.

" _V-vulnera sanentur… vulnera sanentur… vulnera sanentur…_ "

The skin knitted closed a little faster now and the knot in her stomach seemed to unwind slightly. She just needed to get a few more potions in him and he would be alright.

He _had_ to be.

Uncorking a wine-red vial with her teeth, she shoved it against his lips and forced him to swallow it. Then another. Then another.

Three of his freshest Blood-Replenishers would be sufficient, wouldn't they?

Despite the wounds on his neck looking better with each passing second, his pallor did not seem to improve. His skin was still ashen, lips still a chalky blue. She felt at the unharmed side of his neck desperately; his pulse was faint, but still there.

"Come on, Professor. _Come on_. You can do this! You have to fight!"

His glassy obsidian eyes found hers at that moment and one of his thoughts danced across her mind like the flutter of his robes.

 _So tired of fighting_.

Panic seized her, gripping her chest like a vice. She had done all she could do for his body but he was ready to just give up. She gripped him harder, pulling his slender frame to her body, "You don't get to give up now! The war is over, Voldemort is _dead_. You don't get to give up, you fucking bastard! You have the rest of your life to live, fight for it!"

Another of his thoughts slid into her mind. _Insufferable_.

She broke into desperate sobs as she held him to her. She buried her face in his greasy, blood-soaked hair. How did he still smell like sandalwood and his Potions classroom? That only made the reality hurt so much worse, "Please don't do this, Professor. Please don't go. We need you. _I_ need you."

With all the Blood-Replenisher potions she'd given him, his pulse should have strengthened considerably. It didn't. He was slipping away.

The sobs wracked through her as she rocked back and forth, clinging to him as if she could keep him alive from sheer force of will alone. Her tears soaked through his blood-stained cravat. His skin was losing warmth.

One final thought whispered in her mind.

 _Such theatrics. 10 points from Gryffindor._

She would have laughed at his absurdity…

But he let out a final breath and his heart stopped. The pulse was gone. His eyes were blank.

Hermione Granger screamed until her voice gave out.

x-x-x

It had been hours before Harry, Ron, and Professor McGonagall had found her in the Shrieking Shack, still clutching his lifeless body. It had been even longer still before her tears stopped.

She wailed.

Wept.

Apologized.

Raged.

No one had been able to console her nor did they understand why.

His death had not been her fault.

She had done all she could, all anyone could have done.

Poppy had commended her on her quick thinking.

Professor McGonagall assured her that he would have been impressed, proud even.

Ron jokingly said he would have finally given her an 'Outstanding' in something.

None of it had mattered. The only thing that mattered was the exquisitely carved ebony portrait frame in Professor McGonagall's new office that already sported a shiny platinum placard with 'Headmaster Severus Snape, 1960-1998' carved in elegant script.

His painting had not appeared but Hermione never moved.

No one made her.

x-x-x

After the trio had watched his final memories, given to Harry as a last act of penance, they did not speak to each other for a long time. After a fashion, Ron made some half-cocked excuse about getting home to the Burrow but Harry and Hermione remained on the floor in front of Dumbledore's ancient stone pensieve long after he left.

Over the coming weeks, many people volunteered to organize the Potions Master's funeral, but all were turned down.

Thanks to her best friend's influence, Hermione was the only one who would do it.

After all, Harry knew.

He had known for a long time.

Once the funeral date was set and all the arrangements had been made, the only time Hermione left the Headmistress's office was to help Harry clean out Professor Snape's old quarters.

"He didn't have a will," Harry remarked quietly. "He probably didn't expect the dungeons to survive the battle."

She did not respond.

His voice was even softer, "Maybe you should take his things, 'Mione. You could bring them back to his house and... you know, maybe stay there - if you wanted to."

Tears dripped onto the cold floorstones and her knuckles went white around the personal Potions notebook that had taken three hours to un-ward.

"Shit, 'Mione I didn't mean to…" He shifted on the floor uncomfortably as he reached for her. "I'm sorry. Please don't cry anymore."

There was no comfort in her friends embrace, but she remained there anyway, "He'd kill me."

Harry let out a shaky laugh, "Without a doubt."

"I'll have to get his address from the Headmistress."

 _6 months later…_

Surely Professor McGonagall didn't mind her constant presence in her office. Surely she didn't mind that she now had one less armchair by the fire. Surely she didn't mind that she never, ever left. Her former Head of House had always been rather understanding.

Besides, she was hardly a burden- silent as she was. The house-elves had even grown accustomed to bringing her meals there.

"'Mione?" Harry's voice came from somewhere behind her. "It's Thursday. You should go take a shower and change your clothes. I'll stay with him until you get back."

She didn't want to leave, but complying with the arrangement had been the only way she'd gotten everyone to leave her in peace. As long as she ate, slept, and showered at acceptable intervals, no one would bother her. That was all she wanted; to be left alone. To grieve in peace.

As she reached for the pot of Floo powder, Harry spoke again, "Has he… has he been here yet?"

Hermione shook her head and disappeared in a whirl of emerald flames.

6 long months of waiting and Severus Snape still hadn't appeared in his portrait frame.

 _1 year later…_

"Don't you think we should do something?"

"Like what? Forcibly extract her from this room and shackle her to some bed in St. Mungo's? What would that accomplish other than forcing her into another breakdown?"

"I… I mean, of course not, but this isn't _normal_ , Harry! She's been like this for almost a year and a half. We can't let her keep doing this to herself!"

"Ron… you don't understand—"

"Obviously not, so why don't you explain it to me? Explain to me why my girlfriend has been staring at an empty portrait day and night for almost two years? An empty portrait that will eventually be home to the greasy bat of the dungeons! What am I missing here? Because apparently I'm missing _something_!"

Harry's voice was hard, "She hasn't been your girlfriend since long before the Final Battle, Ron. What she does now is none of your concern."

"Then _you_ do something! I'm telling you, Harry, she's gone barmy! You can't keep letting her—"

There was a scuffle of trainers across hardwood and a distinct _whoosh_ of the Floo before it was quiet again.

Thank Merlin. She may be grieving and depressed, but she wasn't deaf.

"'Mione?" Harry came to her side and leaned on the arm of the chair like he did almost every day. "If Ginny doesn't go into labor by the weekend, the Healers will have to induce her. She wants to know if you'll come whenever it happens."

"I can't leave him."

He spoke to her in soft, soothing tones, like always, "I know. But Professor McGonagall will come right away whenever you need to leave, I made sure. Will you come? You know how Ginny feels about you and it would mean the world to her if you were there."

Hermione looked up at her best friend. When had he grown into such a handsome man? The gold lion's mane shimmered around his ring finger. Not just a man, but a husband and soon-to-be father, too. His eyes always looked so sad whenever he looked at her, even now when he was speaking of the impending birth of his first child- a girl, Lily Evans Potter.

She never wanted someone she loved to be sad ever again.

Not after…

"Sorry. Of course I'll be there, Harry. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

His smile was radiant and her heart thawed just a little.

x-x-x

The baby was absolutely beautiful.

Her tiny hand gripped Hermione's finger as she yawned. There was already a bright tuft of Weasley red sprouting from the top of her silky head. If she had to bet galleons, she'd bet that baby's eyes were going to be radiant green just like her father's and grandmother's.

No one, other than Ginny and Harry, spoke to her at St. Mungo's. Why would they? She hadn't spoken to anyone other than those two in over a year and she didn't know what to say to everyone else anyway. They were all content to leave her be and that suited her just fine.

She didn't want to speak to anyone, lest they ask her about…

As per usual, Hermione found herself dozing in the worn leather armchair later that evening. She had taken over Spinner's End as Harry had suggested all those months ago, but she rarely stayed there. It hurt too much.

Despite the uncomfortable angle the chair afforded, Hermione was almost never awakened in the middle of the night.

That was until she heard his velvet voice.

"What in Merlin's name is she still doing here, Minerva?"

The Headmistress sighed, "Severus…"

"No," he snapped. "I've had quite enough. Why are you all pandering to her like this? She's killing herself and none of you are stopping her!"

"Severus, please keep your voice down," McGonagall hissed. "Look, the girl is grieving…"

"For a year and a bloody half? Over some teacher who treated her abhorrently and spouted nothing but abuse at her until the day he died? Don't be absurd. This is something else."

Her pulse quickened but she forced her breathing to remain even.

Did he know?

How could he?

Only Harry and Professor McGonagall knew…

"Alright, I admit it is a bit more complicated than that. But still, Severus, why don't you just speak to her? Perhaps if you finally showed yourself—"

"No. Absolutely not."

"Why must you be so difficult? Miss Granger did everything she could to save your life and now—"

"I refuse to spend my now indefinite days sitting in your office and placating some teenage girl who feels incomprehensibly guilty over something that had nothing to do with her. I will _not_ pander to her like you and Potter do. What you two are doing to this girl is a fucking disgrace and you should both be ashamed."

"Severus!"

"Look at her, Minerva. Really look at her."

It was silent for a moment.

"Asleep in that chair, in front of my portrait like some gods damned vigil, is Hermione Granger. You remember Hermione Granger, don't you? Brightest witch of her age? Brightest witch of her _generation_? Now look at the girl in that chair and tell me what you see."

McGonagall cleared her throat uncomfortably, "I understand what you're saying, Severus. But the last time we tried to get her to leave…"

"Yes," he sneered. Oh Gods, how she missed that sneer. "I remember it well."

Hermione remembered it, too. Screaming, involuntary bursts of raw magic, several damaged windows and even more fragmented bones.

"I… I just don't know what to do," the Headmistress's thick Scottish brogue was full of emotion. "She's so broken after what happened to you."

He scoffed, "Then for fuck's sake, help her put the pieces back together! I know what guilt can do to a person, Minerva. And I am telling you- if you don't kick her arse out of your office and force her to interact with the real world, she will waste away in front of my portrait until there is nothing left of her. Is that what you want?"

"Of course not."

It was quiet for another long moment before he spoke again, but this time his voice was much gentler. Certainly more gentle than she'd ever heard when he was alive, "If I show myself to her Minerva, she will never leave this room again. I am grateful for everything she did for me, but I will not be a part of her self-destruction. She has too much potential for that. Perhaps, if she is one day able to pull herself together, then I will have something to say to her. Until then, I do not."

The Headmistress let out a long sigh, "You're absolutely right, Severus. I'm… I'm sorry that I let this go on for as long as I have."

She could imagine him pinching the bridge of his ridiculous nose, "Just get some sleep. You'll need it if you're going to be evicting her tomorrow morning."

"Of course. Goodnight, Severus."

"Goodnight, Headmistress. And good luck."

When she heard the door to McGonagall's private chambers click shut, Hermione made a show of stretching her arms and yawning loudly. If Professor Snape didn't want to speak to her, she certainly would never force him.

Not after all he'd endured.

As she knew it would be, the portrait frame was empty and black when she opened her eyes, as if he had never been there at all. With his words lightening the grief in her heart and making it easier to breathe than it had been in almost two years, Hermione quietly gathered her things from her designated corner of the office and padded silently to the Floo.

When she disappeared into the flames that carried her to Spinner's End, Hermione vowed that she would not stand in front of Professor Snape's portrait again until she had gotten her life together and accomplished all the things she dreamt she would so very long ago.

After all, he did say he would be willing to speak to her then.

 _3 years later…_

As the sun set, painting the horizon with brilliant brushstrokes of burnt orange, blush, and scarlet, the Floo in the Headmistress's office came roaring to life. There was no disembodied head poking through, only the voice that went with it.

"Professor McGonagall, are you still coming? The ceremony starts in ten minutes! 'Mione will never forgive you if you aren't here."

The Headmistress removed her spectacles and organized her desk with a quick flourish of her wand. She rose, draping an elegant tartan woven from Acromantula silk across her shoulder and down her chest. "Harry Potter, I wrote that girl's recommendation letter and I will have you know that I've been waiting just as eagerly for this day as she has. I assure you, I will be there as soon as you remove yourself from my Floo."

The voice of the Boy Who Lived Twice disappeared with a snicker.

"Big day, Minerva?" Professor Snape drawled from his portrait. "Is Miss Granger finally shackling herself to that Weasley idiot? I must admit I am rather disappointed. You spoke so highly of her progress…"

McGonagall smirked as she reached for the pot of Floo powder, her words echoing throughout the empty room as the emerald flames consumed her.

"You, Severus Snape, are the worst kind of idiot."

x-x-x

On the first of September, Headmistress McGonagall stood at the golden-owl adorned dais that was, as always, a few feet in front of the polished Head Table. She smiled brightly as the Sorting Hat finished with its last student. Gryffindor, how fitting.

"To those of you who know me, welcome back to another wonderful year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. To those of you who do not, I am Headmistress McGonagall and I will be watching over you all this year. It warms my heart to see so many new faces joining us this year, not only first years but transfers from Beuxbatons and Durmstrang as well. I know you will all come to see Hogwarts as your home and your peers as your family, but if you ever find yourself struggling to fit in, please reach out to either your Prefects or your Heads of House. No matter what you are feeling, no matter what House you were sorted into, there will be no judgments here. Not anymore."

The students, even those who were returning for another year, watched her with wonder, reverence, and awe.

"Now, on to some most exciting news! This year, we have two new professors joining our staff. As many of you know, Professor Slughorn has retired from his position as Potions Master and Professor Sprout has decided to pursue her own private Herbology studies in the mountains of Peru. This left us with two vacant positions that were graciously filled by none other than Miss Hermione Granger and Mr. Neville Longbottom."

The students erupted into window-shattering applause and cheers as the two new professors stood behind the Head Table. Neville flushed crimson at the recognition. Hermione simply smiled, a warm feeling settling into her chest.

She was finally home.

x-x-x

It only took a few months for Hermione to realize why Professor Snape had been so angry all the time.

The students, Merlin bless their souls, were sweethearts but _dunderheads_. Godric have mercy, if she had to clean up one more melted cauldron because a hormonal teenager couldn't stop making goo-goo eyes at another hormonal teenager long enough to add the right ingredient or stir at the proper moment, Hermione was certain she would rip her hair from the roots.

She had a Mastery in Potions. She did not have the skills to handle temperamental children.

There was a deep, velvety chuckle from the other side of the room, "Frustrated already, Miss Granger? It isn't even Winter break yet."

Her heart came to a screeching halt but then picked right back up in double, triple, quadruple time. He was here. In her office. He was speaking to her.

Well, Severus Snape was always one for keeping his word.

Hermione turned to the gilded frame that hung beside her—his—desk and damn it all if she didn't smile at him like he was the most wonderful gift she had ever received. "Hello, sir. It's nice to see you again."

He inclined his head, appraising her with his deep black eyes, "You are looking much better than when I saw you last."

Her smiled faltered for a brief moment before she recovered. No, she wouldn't let that affect her anymore. She hadn't moved on, she never would, but she had become stronger. She could handle it now. "Yes, well, that was quite a difficult time. Taking care of myself wasn't exactly high on my priorities list. How have you been, sir?"

He rolled his eyes, "I am confined to portrait frames, Miss Granger. How do you think I've been?"

Hermione chuckled, "Going rather mad, I'd imagine."

"Indeed."

She vanished the remainder of the ruined cauldron and wrote herself a quick note to purchase another one the next time she was in Hogsmeade before she perched on her—his—desk and turned back to him.

"So disrespectful with my things already? I'm appalled. I thought if anyone would have a little respect for the dead, Miss Granger, it would be you."

Ah, yes. There was the snark she'd been missing. She shrugged, "The way I see it, this is my office now. I can do with it what I please."

His slender black brow raised, "Is that so?"

She nodded.

"I shudder to think of what dire travesty my quarters have become, then. I assume you are staying there?"

Her face flushed and she ducked her head. If only he knew the painstaking detail she'd gone to with the pensieve to restore his quarters to exactly the way they had been when she and Harry had cleaned them out all those years ago. She still had his things, after all. They had been with her all the time that she resided in his previously dilapidated house. Now, they came with her to Hogwarts until she could return to her—his—home over the summer.

"I am, sir."

"Perhaps… perhaps I could make time to visit you there. Whenever you have some free time, that is."

Hermione's head snapped up but he was looking away, towards the back wall of the office where there was nothing but perfectly organized shelves and grey Hogwarts stone. Was he… no, portraits couldn't blush. She was imagining things.

"I would like that, sir."

He cleared his throat uncomfortably, "I believe, under the circumstances, you may call me Severus."

 _7 years later…_

"The new Weasley twins will be starting this year," Hermione said, seemingly to herself as she turned the page of her book in front of the fireplace. She was stretched languidly- on her stomach- across the soft, brown leather couch with a wine glass in her free hand. Her now glossy riot of mahogany curls tumbled haphazardly around her shoulders and down her chest. It was days like this when she was thankful her quarters were so deep in the dungeons. Everyone else in Hogwarts was roasting in the end of summer heat. "Harry and Ginny's boys as well."

"Yes, well good luck with… Salazar's ghost, will you put something on?" He snapped from his intricately carved frame above the mantle. "Those shorts are so small you can practically see your knickers!"

"I suppose that would be an issue, if I were actually wearing any."

He blanched and then blushed, because indeed portraits _could_ blush, before schooling his face back into his trademark scowl, "Very funny, Hermione."

"I thought so," she grinned, flipping over on her back as she turned yet another page in her book. "What does it matter, anyway? These are my rooms and the only other person who ever comes in here is you. And I am fairly certain you've seen me in even less, so..."

His face burned crimson again, "I've told you, that was an accident!"

She snorted rather inelegantly, not even looking up from her book, "Right. Nevermind the fact that you spend almost every day here and know my schedule probably better than I do. You just happened to accidentally stroll into the portrait above my bed as I was undressing for the shower. How convenient, Severus."

"I… you… you impertinent little chit! How dare you accuse me of such impropriety?"

Hermione shrugged, "If you wanted to see me naked, all you had to do was ask."

Interestingly, he had nothing to say to that.

It wasn't until she had ingested three more glasses of elfin wine and finished her book that Professor Snape spoke again. "Hermione… there is something I've been meaning to ask you."

She shoved herself to an awkward half-sitting position on the couch, head spinning a little from the wine, "Knock yourself out. I'm all ears."

He scowled for a moment, which Hermione had come to learn was the face he made when deep in thought, before he raised his eyes to her, "All of your friends are married and either have children or are planning them in the near future. Yet… I've never even seen you spend any length of time with anyone of the opposite sex other than Potter. Although, I do seem to recall you spending a lot of your free time with Miss Lovegood…"

Hermione broke out laughing, a little more obnoxiously than usual due to her inebriated state, "Why _sir_ , are you implying that I might be a lesbian?"

"I am simply stating my observations, _Miss Granger_ ," he grumbled, most definitely embarrassed. After all, he only resorted to calling her 'Miss Granger' these days when he was either seething with anger or burning with mortification. The years with him around had taught her that much.

When her drunken laughter subsided, she cocked her head and watched him. He was fiddling with some potion on one of the workbenches in the portrait. Add ingredient, stir clockwise three times, add another ingredient, stir counterclockwise once. Turn the burner down, add another ingredient. Simmer.

He was still just as magnificent as he'd always been.

The wine made her tongue much looser than she'd ever allowed it to be around him, "No… no, there is most _definitely_ a man I'm interested in."

He looked up at her, obsidian eyes burning like she remembered, "And why have you not… what is stopping you?"

She felt her eyes slipping closed as the wine overtook her, "Let's just say he's… perpetually unavailable."

The last thing she heard before drifting into oblivion was his soft voice.

"Oh, Hermione."

x-x-x

"Severus Snape, I mean it! If I catch you skulking about any of my portraits, I will hex you into the next closest magical castle!"

He was doing a very poor job hiding his grin.

She stamped her foot and pointed towards her door, "Out!"

Arms clasped behind his back, he began to make his way toward the edge of his frame above the mantle, "I never pegged you for a husband stealer, Hermione. Miss Weasley better watch out."

Before she could toss the couch pillow at his frame, he was gone.

Somehow, after all the years she'd now spent with him, she kept forgetting how much of an arse he could be.

A few minutes later, Hermione felt her wards shift to accommodate the only other living person who had access to them. Harry Potter soon came barreling into her chambers, a ridiculously soppy grin on his face. "'Mione!"

She fell into his embrace with an easy familiarity and squeezed him tightly, "Harry! Gods, I've missed you so much! How is Ginny?"

They ended up on her couch in front of the fireplace, wine glasses in hand, "Oh, she is doing great. The Harpies are even offering her place back on the team now that the kids are in school and a lot of her time is freed up. She's actually at training camp right now."

"That's wonderful! She must be ecstatic."

He nodded, sipping his drink, "She's been going crazy just sitting at home while I'm off on assignments. It doesn't help that Ron shoves being an Auror in her face any chance he gets, either."

She sighed, "Why am I not surprised… How is Ron, by the way? And Lavender?"

Harry paused, "They're separating."

Hermione nearly dropped her glass. Such things may be common in the Muggle world but in the Wizarding World, marriage was for life. "That's… but Wizarding marriages don't work like that!"

"When the daughter of one of the richest families in Britain catches her husband shagging their nanny on the kitchen table, it does."

"Oh, Merlin those poor kids. Please tell me Lavender is going to be taking them with her wherever she goes."

"Of course. No one in the Wizengamot is stupid enough to leave Ron Weasley in charge of five kids when he can hardly put on his own socks."

Hermione could only agree.

They sipped their wine for a moment before Harry cleared his throat, "Is it… safe to talk?"

She nodded, "I banned him from my rooms while you're here and I warded the frames for good measure." He fiddled with the stem of his glass long enough that she realized whatever he had to say was not going to be playful. "Harry, what is it?"

His bright jade eyes were sincere when he looked up at her, "I'm worried about you, 'Mione."

"Whatever for? I can scarcely remember a time when my life was going better than it is now. I've gotten my Potions Mastery, I have the job I wanted at Hogwarts, I get to spend every day getting to know Severus a little better. What do you have to worry about?"

"Does he know?"

Who knew three little words, one simple question, could be so loaded?

She could feel her palms begin to sweat, "Of course not, Harry. Don't be ridiculous."

"Why is it ridiculous, 'Mione? You've been in love with him since you were sixteen. When he died, you made the choice to be… like this and I understand, I do. I was there, remember? I held you as you cried until I thought _my_ heart would break. I was the one who wiped away your tears and forced you to eat, to shower, to sleep when you wouldn't leave McGonagall's office. I saw what his death did to you. I know it's selfish, but… I don't know if I can handle that again. You have to tell him, 'Mione. You have to tell him _everything_."

"He knows that I did what I could to save him, Harry. He knows I was there in McGonagall's office for a year and a half. He was present for both. He _knows_. What more do you—"

Harry rested his hand on her arm, his eyes searching hers, "You need to be honest with him. You have to tell him how you feel. He deserves to know and you don't deserve to suffer in silence like this."

"He's become my friend since I came to teach here, Harry. What if I tell him and he… he doesn't…" The room began to spin and then she was back in the Shrieking Shack. Was that blood on her hands? She could smell the copper. Her fingers felt sticky from the Dittany. Those bottomless black eyes stared into nothing… "What if I lose him again? What if… what if…"

He gripped her upper arms tightly, "'Mione… Hermione, breathe! Breathe! That's it, slowly. In and out. In and out. It's okay. That was a long time ago. It's over. You're just having a panic attack. Come back, Hermione."

It took a few minutes before her eyes refocused on the man in front of her, "I'm sorry, Harry. I don't know what hap—"

He pulled her into a tight hug, "This is why you have to tell him, "Mione. You're so terrified to lose the only remaining connection you two have, so afraid for the other shoe to drop that it cripples you. I understand that you don't want anyone else and that's fine, but repressing how you feel just to keep him around isn't healthy for you either. Merlin almighty, Hermione, it took us years to get you to a good place again. Are you trying to undo everything we did?"

She clenched her fists in Harry's shirt, desperately trying to force the tears back, "No, of course not. We… we worked so hard…"

"Then take what you learned and _use_ it. Repression leads to regression, remember? As much as it hurts, you _have_ to deal with these things. You need to talk to him about everything, Hermione. You need to talk to him about that day and about how it affected you. You can't keep holding all this in until you break."

Damn Harry Potter and his ability to know what she needed before she did. Hermione sighed into his damp shirt, "What would I do without you, Harry?"

She could feel his smile on the top of her head, "Love you, too."

x-x-x

Many hours later, surrounded by warm, velvet blankets and the dungeon's impenetrable darkness, she heard him.

"I never properly thanked you for trying to save my life."

Gods damn it all, she had forgotten to ward the frame in her bedroom. How much had he heard from her visit with Harry? Hermione nestled deeper into the bed to hide herself away, "There's nothing to thank me for. I failed, remember?"

His voice was sad, "Hermione…"

"Please, Severus. Not tonight."

At first she thought he was actually going to leave her be, but then again, when had it ever been that easy? He tried a new approach. "I always wondered why you'd never gone on a date... taken a lover."

Her voice was shaking now, "Severus, please."

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked gently.

She found herself thankful that it was black as pitch right now, "You know why."

"Enlighten me anyway, if you please."

"When would you have had me tell you, Severus? When you were my professor, who was twice my age and hated me from the moment I entered your class? When you were a supposed Death Eater lording over Hogwarts while Harry, Ron, and I were on the run? When you were bleeding to death in my arms on the floor of the Shrieking Shack? When I was nearly catatonic with the grief of failing to keep you alive? Tell me, which of those times should I have chosen to confess myself to you?"

"How about at any time over the last seven years?"

Hermione scoffed, "And risk ruining the tenuous friendship I'd managed to find with you? Quite frankly, I felt lucky enough just to have that."

It was quiet for a moment, "It would not have ruined anything, Miss—" He cleared his throat, " _Hermione_."

Her breath caught. Could it be?

With a flick of her wand, the sconces on the walls came to life with a soft glow and the room was illuminated. She turned to the large frame above her bed, thankful that she was already on her knees or she surely would have collapsed. He crouched down in the opulent, painted bedroom, his obsidian eyes warm and soft.

All for her.

Tears dripped onto the sheets as she reached her hand to him.

With the gentlest quirk of his lips, he reached back.

 _8 years later…_

Tinky the house-elf _popped!_ into her sitting room brandishing a letter, bouncing up and down, "Deputy Headmistress! Deputy Headmistress!"

Hermione couldn't stifle her grin as she placed the worn leather bookmark and slid the priceless first edition onto her coffee table, "What can I do for you, Tinky?"

"Tinky has a letter from the Headmistress! Tinky was told it is most important, Miss!"

The moment she took the letter, Tinky disappeared with a snap of her bony fingers. Hermione popped open the wax seal on the back of the parchment and unfolded the letter. In true Severus Snape fashion, one sculpted eyebrow raised as she read.

"What does the interfering old biddy want now?" He growled from the portrait frame. "Can't she give you even one day without—"

"Oh hush, love," she chided as her gaze continued down the parchment. When she had finished, she raised her cinnamon eyes to the beautiful Potions Master, who was still scowling at a brewing potion on one of his work benches. "Minerva said she has something for me, but that I must come right away."

He frowned, "A birthday gift? _That_ is what's so important? I'm beginning to think she's losing her grip in her old age."

Hermione rolled her shoulders as she stood from the couch, "Well, it wouldn't do to go in front of the Headmistress in my nightclothes," she tugged at her shirt suggestively. "Perhaps I should change into something more suitable?"

He eyed her hungrily, but his voice was like the sweetest honey, "You are absolutely right, you _should_ change. Please, allow me to escort you to your bedroom. Wouldn't want anything to happen to you, Deputy Headmistress."

As he followed her, portrait to portrait, into her bedroom, Hermione had to fight back a smug grin. She wasn't embarrassed anymore. After all, he'd seen her naked more times than she could count.

x-x-x

"Hermione!" The Headmistress hugged her genially. "Happy birthday, my girl! Have you been enjoying your day? Has Severus treated you well?"

Professor Snape snickered in his frame.

"Ignore him," she waved towards the portrait. "I've been having a lovely day, Minerva. One of the best I can remember."

McGonagall made her way back to her desk and tugged at one of the drawers, "Well, I hope one more gift for my Deputy won't go amiss?"

Hermione had the grace to blush, "Headmistress, that really isn't necessary…"

"Nonsense. Come, sit. I want to ask you something first."

She sat dutifully in the squashy armchair by the fire; McGonagall followed suit.

"What do you know of the portraits in the castle, Hermione?"

"The portraits?" She frowned thoughtfully. "Well, according to _Hogwarts: A History_ , many people believed them to be charmed to seem alive. But upon further observation and research, it was discovered that this theory only applied to certain ones. Most of the paintings that line the walls of the castle are just that- simple paintings that have been brought to life with various animation charms. The portraits of the Headmasters and Headmistresses are the ones that are fundamentally different."

McGonagall nodded, "Go on. Tell me why they're different."

"Well… no one knows for _certain_ but it's been theorized that since Hogwarts is undeniably sentient, the castle itself has taken steps to preserve a part of each former Headmaster or Headmistress within its walls. Some researchers believe that only a tiny essence of the person has been kept inside the portrait, enough to make them seem sentient and alive, but others believe that the castle actually preserves a little piece of their soul for each portrait."

"And what do you know of souls, Hermione?"

"I'm sorry, Headmistress, but I don't understand the question."

The older woman pulled a small velvet pouch from the pocket of her robes and set it on the small table between them, "Please. Open it."

Hermione took the pouch, released the drawstrings, and turned it over to empty in her hand. A smooth onyx stone with sharp edges tumbled into her palm. It glittered with flecks of amber in the firelight.

Professor Snape's breath caught.

Her eyes shimmered as she looked to her mentor, "Minerva… is this…?"

She nodded, "I have had the Resurrection Stone in my possession for quite some time now. It can only be used once per person and I already used my chance many, many years ago."

"But… I thought…"

The Headmistress closed Hermione's hand over the sharp stone, "Please, let me explain how it works. The stone will bring back the person- or in some cases, people- you love most. It can read your heart even if you cannot. The reason that it usually… well, I'm sure you remember the story of the Three Brothers. The dead are not meant to come back, for the simple fact that most people, when they die, forfeit their souls so that they may rest in peace in whatever afterlife awaits us."

"Yes, I've read that a soul is believed to be the price for the afterlife," Hermione confirmed quietly.

"However, if these portraits do, in fact, house a small piece of each person's soul, then the Stone should be able to bring Severus back for a short time."

Before she could work through the emotion blocking her throat, he spoke, "How long?"

McGonagall's eyes were soft, "For Albus and I, it was just around two hours."

Two hours. _Two whole hours_. Hermione bit her lip and threw her arms around the Headmistress, burying her face in the tartan wool of her robes, "Thank you, Minerva. _Thank you_."

The older woman patted Hermione's back warmly, "You're 38 today, Hermione. The same age as when Severus… well, I thought it a most appropriate gift."

Hermione couldn't stop smiling as she clung to her friend.

Two whole hours.

She would have two entire hours with him.

x-x-x

His eyes burned into her as the flames from the warded hearth warmed her chilled skin.

"Do it," he commanded.

Hermione bit her lip and closed her eyes, turning the stone thrice in her hand. He was the only thing on her mind as the sharp edges of the Resurrection Stone sliced her palm and absorbed her blood as payment.

When she opened her eyes again, he stood before her.

Flesh and blood.

Six foot two.

Billowing black robes.

Lank, ravens-wing hair.

Bottomless obsidian eyes.

Alabaster skin.

"S… Severus?"

Without a word, Severus Snape crashed his lips into hers so hard, they knocked the sofa back a few inches across the stone floor. He wound his long, slender hand in her glossy curls and secured her to him, devouring her mouth with a fierce hunger. It was all she could do to keep breathing.

When the shock finally wore off, Hermione touched every inch of him she could gain access to. She wanted to remember this always. She wanted to remember the curve of his cheek and the line of his aquiline nose and the dip of his cupid's bow and the shape of his brows and the angles of his jaw. She wanted to remember the spice of his venomous tongue and the taste of his warm skin. She wanted to remember every angle, every curve, every dip, every swell of his body.

"Hermione…" He breathed any time his lips were not on hers. "My Hermione…"

Try as she might, she couldn't stop the tears that leaked from her eyes, "You're really here. You're _here_. Oh Gods, Severus…"

"I should be honorable," he managed between brushes of his lips and slips of his tongue as he moved down the column of her bronze throat. "I should be honorable and use this time to convince you to stop pining over me and move on with your life after this."

She arched into his touch as he slipped his hands beneath her shirt to find her aching breasts.

"But it would seem as though death has given me some perspective."

She cried out in shocked pleasure when his other hand slid into her knickers and plunged, unmercifully, into her wet, dripping heat.

"I don't give a _fuck_ about being honorable anymore," he growled against her sweat-slicked skin. "I fucking love you, witch. You're _mine_ , do you hear me? _Mine_. And you will always be mine. _Always_."

Later, as he drove his iron cock over and over into Hermione's tight, virgin walls with reckless abandon, chanting her name like a breathless prayer to any God who would listen, she found herself crying again. Tears soaked into the pillow beneath her head as she gazed up at him, his face a rictus of rapture and pleasure. Her fingers gripped his shoulder, clawed at his back, wound in the curtain of his hair as the most earth-shattering orgasm she ever experienced ripped through her, altering each cell it left behind in its wake.

And when he was spent and sated, collapsed in a bony heap on top of her, she laughed.

Laughed until she cried.

Cried until he kissed away the tears from her cheeks and slid into her body again, this time slow, so slow, as he made love to her.

That time, he never looked away from her eyes.

And as their two hours came to a close, he surprised her.

"You're living in my house."

It wasn't a question, but she answered anyway, "Yes. On occasion."

His fingers danced down the ridged of her spine, "Did you find a small jewelry box somewhere?"

She could see the lovely moonstone and opal box perfectly in her mind's eye, "It's heavily warded. Nothing I did opened it."

He pressed his lips to her temple, "It will open for you now. It will recognize you as mine."

Forcing the tears back, she looked up at his severe profile, "What's inside of it?"

Slight spots of pink bloomed on his pale cheeks, "A ring."

"A… a _ring_?"

He nodded.

"Was it... your mother's?"

He nodded again.

"And I can wear it?"

His face broke into a brilliant, blinding smile, the likes of which she had never seen when he was truly alive, "Forever."

 _60 years later…_

"Headmistress? Are you alright?"

Hermione rubbed her temples for a moment, "Yes, sorry Professor. Just a headache. What can I do for you?"

Professor Scorpius Malfoy unrolled a long sheet of parchment, "The other Heads of House and I have come up with this blueprint for a new common room. We believe it would really benefit the inter-house unity effort if there were a large communal space for the students to gather that didn't require going outside or leaving the grounds. Many of the older Slytherins are more than happy to donate if we can't come up with the funds."

Her heart swelled. Everything she had ever wanted was playing out right before her eyes and she was blessed enough to be a part of it. "Don't be silly, Professor Malfoy. Just tell me how much you need."

He blushed from the very roots of his white-blond hair, "We estimate just around a million galleons, Headmistress."

Something was tugging at the edges of her mind and when she looked up to the carved ebony frame that now sat just beside her desk, she saw Severus give her a soft smile and nod.

So. It was time.

Hermione pulled a small, ornate key from a drawer in her desk and held it out for the professor. He took it but looked back at her with confusion.

"But Headmistress… this is a Gringotts key."

"Yes, it's mine."

Shock. That's the only way to describe his expression. "You… you want us to use _your_ money for the renovation?"

She simply gave him a warm smile, "As much as you need. There is no limit."

"I…"

Hermione handed him a sealed envelope, "Show this to the Goblins. They will let you in, I promise."

He took the letter and still seemed shocked beyond comprehension before it finally dawned on him and he gave her a dazzling Malfoy smile, "Thank you so much, Headmistress. Thank you! I can't even begin to tell you what this means to me, to all of us. I would have paid for it myself but…"

"I know, Professor Malfoy. Caring for an ill parent is taxing in more ways than one."

His expression clouded and he nodded.

Her vision began to blur at the edges, "If you'll excuse me, Professor. I find I'm not feeling well and should take some time to rest this afternoon."

"Of course, Headmistress. Thank you again. If there is anything I can ever do for you…"

She could feel the cool elven metal band around her ring finger tingle, "In fact, there is. If you could send an owl to Harry Potter and request his presence after dinner, I would be most grateful. I find a visit with him to be long overdue."

The professor did not ask why she did not simply owl her friend herself, "Absolutely, Headmistress. I'll send it right away."

When her office was quiet again, Severus spoke, "Do you feel it, love?"

She smiled serenely at the dour Potions Master and just nodded.

"Are you afraid?"

Hermione looked up at him, her sharp cinnamon eyes memorizing every inch of his face one final time, "How could I be? You're here."

His expression was soft, "As I always will be."

She made her way to her private chambers and left them warded so that, as usual, only Harry would be able to get through. Severus' voice was soothing as she fell back onto her large four poster bed.

"I'll be waiting for you, dearest Hermione."

She closed her eyes.

They did not open again.

 _70 years later…_

Headmaster Aegeus Potter sat in the large leather armchair before the fireplace, a stack of parchment in one hand and a liberally ink-coated quill in the other. His tumbler of firewhisky was untouched.

"Feel free and ask your questions, Professor Lovegood," the Headmaster said. "I'm ready when you are."

Professor Artemis Lovegood set down her tea and looked up to the amber and ebony portrait frames that hung above the mantle, "Are you certain they can hear me? The frames look empty."

He chuckled, "They can hear you. Go on."

She cleared her throat, "Headmaster Snape? Headmistress Granger?"

They both appeared in the ebony frame, painted to look exactly as they both had at 38 years old- a final request Hermione Granger had left for her friend Harry Potter. Headmistress Granger had both arms wrapped tightly around his waist and Headmaster Snape wound one arm around her shoulders with an annoyed look on his face.

"How can we be of assistance?" The former Headmistress smiled warmly.

"Yes," Headmaster Snape growled. "How _can_ we assist? Since you deemed it so important to interrupt us this evening."

Professor Lovegood blushed and Headmaster Potter simply laughed.

Some things never changed, no matter how much time had passed.

"We are writing an updated version of _Hogwarts: A History_ , you see,and we would like to ask you some questions regarding your respective roles in the War as well as afterwards. Would that be alright?"

"Of course, dear," Headmistress Granger nodded. "What would you like to know?"

She seemed to contemplate this for a moment, "Well… before we begin with the official questions for the book, I must ask… as long as I can remember, there has been a rumor that you two have never been seen in different frames- that Headmistress Granger's frame has never once been occupied. Is this true? Are you always together?"

This time, it was Headmaster Snape who answered with a roll of his eyes, "Astute as only a Lovegood can be."

Headmistress Granger swatted his shoulder, "Ignore him, child. He's a bit grumpy this evening," her eyes softened as she looked up at the austere man in black beside her. "For a very long time, we were unable to be together."

He pressed his lips to her forehead.

"I find that I'm in no hurry to be separated again."

"Indeed," that single word was like a benediction, a prayer, as he said it to her.

Professor Lovegood discretely wiped a tear from her eye as she hid her face behind her parchment of questions.

So the rumors were true.

They really did love each other.

After all this time.


End file.
